


Sanders' Sins

by novaisnotinsane



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Dark Sides, Dark! Sides, Deceit Sanders - Freeform, Deceit is a motherfatherbrother asshole, Depression, Mentions of Injuries, Obsession, Other, Patton Sanders - Freeform, Pride, Roman Sanders - Freeform, Suggestive Themes, Virgil Sanders - Freeform, and deceit, and not the usual suspects, cursing, in droves, lots of deceit, not sorry, second part has, wrote this screaming "Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:24:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14754824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novaisnotinsane/pseuds/novaisnotinsane
Summary: He's not sure how things ended up like this. He just hopes Virgil will forgive him.alternatively titled: oops my hand slipped...





	1. Chapter 1

He still has no idea how things ended up this way. He had been in his room, working through another writing mojo, his hands furiously scribbling notes and other little details as he tore through the parchment paper, his fingertips stained jet black as the ink dripped from his raven’s quill, ever so reminiscent of crimson blood.

The knock on his door had startled him; he had jerked the quill across the parchment, smudging half a day’s work. He exhaled loudly. He didn’t need distraction now, he was getting to the most important part!

“Roman, I know you’re in there!” came from the other side. _Virgil_. Oh, great, what did the emo nightmare want now? As much as he had come to love Virgil over the course of a couple therapy-like sessions with Thomas, sometimes Virgil had the habit of interrupting Roman at the worst opportune moment in history.

“What does the thunderstorm require from the prince?” he’d called. There’d been a beat of silence before Virgil replied that he just wanted to talk. That alone should have been a red flag, an evacuation alarm to get out of whatever conversation would follow. Yet he had still opened the door to his room with a wave of his hand, allowing the anxious to gingerly tiptoe around the stacks of paper and crafts, careful not to not any down.

Virgil had been quiet as he approached Roman. Sure, he was a lot quieter than the rest of them, but he at least made an effort to say something, rather than sit in awkward silence. The impending doom of silence made him anxious, Roman knew.

“What did you want to chat about, Hot Topic?” he asked. Virgil had plopped on his bed, wrinkling the pristine red sheets. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of having to smooth it out again, but he let it slide for now. Virgil looked like he wanted to talk about something important, he wouldn’t have come directly to Roman’s room otherwise, instead just summoning him to the Commons like normal.

Virgil took a deep breath. “I had a nightmare last night,” he began, swinging his legs nervously on Roman’s bed. He let out a long sigh. “I was… back with the Dark Sides,” he mumbled, nervous of how Roman would react. It was hardly any secret to the rest of the main sides that Virgil had associated himself with Deceit and the others, but what exactly that association had entailed was as much mystery as Virgil let it be.

“But,” Virgil continued as Roman returned from his mid-day-dreaming. “Something was different. Normally when I dream about them, I can tell exactly who’s there. Like, I recognize their silhouettes or something? But I didn’t this time. It was really weird…” he trailed off, mumbling something Roman couldn’t quite hear. That had been the second red flag. The last time Virgil had come to Roman, asking for his help in interpreting the dream, had been just before Deceit showed up in the Commons with Thomas.

“Well, what was weird about them?” Roman asked. Stupid. He should’ve just assured Virgil there was nothing to be worried about, just a bad dream is all, just his anxiety getting a little to hyped up.

“I saw things that reminded me of… of you guys…” Roman’s heart stopped cold. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, _ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit_ \- “You okay, Princey?” He didn’t trust himself to speak the misguided truth, only nodding as he swallowed the dryness away from his throat. “Anyways, I saw someone with a hoodie like Patton, someone with glasses kind of like Logan, and someone wearing a crown, like you.” Virgil’s gaze is hot beneath his skin and it’s all he can do to not scream.

Then Virgil’s gaze settles on something on his desk, something glossy and inky black that had been… bestowed upon him earlier that day. He’d pushed it to the side, completely forgetting about it. “Roman, is that… is that what I think it is?” His question sends alarms in Roman’s mind as his cocoa brown eyes fixate on the corrupted crown sitting on the edge of his desk, hiding behind a scroll tossed haphazardly over it. The spikes shine in the glare of pastel pink fairy lights overhead, seeming all but warm. Emblazoned in the middle was his crest, the ones the fanders had come to know him by.

He couldn’t speak. His voice wouldn’t come out of mouth, wouldn’t work some fancy, witty remark to explain away why Roman just happened to have this sort of crown in his room, when he had made a point a while ago to say that he hated any tiaras, diadems, or crowns that didn’t fit with the prince image.

Virgil had been staring at him for a while before the emo finally spoke. His voice had cut through the tension like a knife, jolting the prince back to reality. “Why do you have this?” Roman shook his head, opening his mouth, though all he made were a couple croaking sounds, sounding so unfamiliar to the royal. “This is… this is just like the crown in my dream- and now it’s here and you said you don’t like crowns like this, so why-” Even though Roman’s own thoughts were hurried and alarmed, he noticed the panic rising in Virgil’s tone. “Is he…” he trailed off, seemingly unable to speak the lying side’s name.

“Roman, is… is Deceit trying to coerce you to join the Dark Sides?” Virgil asked, his eyes scared and full of concern. Roman scoffed.

“‘Coerce?’ More like go back-” The hand was slapped over his mouth before he even registers the words tumbling out. His eyes glanced about, pricked for any sign of the little snake, missing the way Virgil’s face goes slack, completely stunned at the accidental revelation. Roman had turned back in time to see Virgil finishing process his slipped secret, his face darkening, the prince mentally cursing himself for being so stupid.

“Roman.” He didn’t like the tone in Virgil’s voice. The poor kid had been through a lot with the other Dark Sides. Knowing Roman had been one, too, once upon a time, was a harsh blow to the trust he and the emo had slowly built up the past few months. “Are you…” Virgil couldn’t seem to finish the question that was plaguing his panicking mind. “Are you a Dark Side?” he blurted out. Roman felt his entire body stiffen, even though he had know for some time that with the official appearance of Deceit, the secrets Roman had tried to hide in all his vainglory would come spilling out.

He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything.

Virgil’s eyes narrowed, the prince’s silence all he had needed to confirm his worst fear. He began scooting up along the bed, further away from the prince. He was going to make a break for it, Roman had recognized. He had to at least say something before Virgil escaped to his room, never to speak with him again.

“Virgil,” he croaked, his voice cracking. “I’m not like Deceit and the others, please believe me. I would never do anything to hurt you, Patton, Logan, or Thomas, please _Virgil, it’s me, we’re friends._ ” 

His reassurance had had no effect on Virgil, who had continued regarding him with the disdainful. Virgil could see all his faults, he was sure of it. He was seeing the history Roman deserved to have.

“So you’re the one Deceit was talking about… ‘Pride’, was it?” Virgil snapped, hugging his knees close to his chest. For a split second, it all came rushing back- the glory, the disdain, the achievements that could never seem to satisfy him- and his eyes went red. Virgil saw this, his face paling even as Roman’s eyes went back to normal, the royal’s expression one of terror. “You’re trying to make me go back there, aren’t you?” Virgil said softly, his voice not betraying the fear welling up inside of him. Roman shook his head vigorously.

“No, I swear to _God_ , Virgil, I’m not trying to bring you back to the Dark Sides. I never have and never will, on my life. A prince never breaks his promise, right?” he pleaded. Sweet pastries, he sounded insane. He had to be. This all had to be just another daydream gone wild, not the truth, not reality, not anything he couldn’t handle.

Virgil snarled, snapping his fingers, and they were suddenly transported to the Commons. Roman noticed Patton jumped from his position in the couch, yelping in surprise. Logan, nosing around in the kitchen for leftover Crofter’s, whipped his head towards the duo’s sudden appearance.

“Did you know about this?” Virgil had growled, gesturing towards Roman, who had unconsciously grabbed the crown and was now clutching it tightly. Both Patton and Logan looked confused. “He’s a fucking Dark Side!” Virgil had yelled, the fear finally infusing itself with his voice. Patton had looked so confounded he didn’t even reprimand Virgil’s choice of language.

And now here he was, confronted by the sides who had become his precious family. He could hardly breathe, let alone explain himself. “What do you have to say for yourself, Roman?” Virgil snaps, poking his chest with a single finger, its stubby, uncared for nail painted a grimy shade of black. If Virgil ever forgave him, he would have to buy him a new shade of nail polish. His voice is failing him again.

“You’re _family_ , Roman. And family doesn’t keep secrets!” Virgil’s voice rises with each word, Roman flinching as he ends with a snarl. It is all he can do to not fall to his knees, the whispers in his ears growing so loud they sound more like white static from a broken television.

The cry that slices across the room doesn’t come from Roman’s throat, though. Instead, three bewildered sides turn to look at Patton, who has fallen to his knees, his soft brown eyes filling with warm tears. He sobs something incoherent, his words garbled by his whimpers. Virgil’s face pales as though someone has backhanded him across his face.

Roman isn’t prepared for the memory that hits him like a violent sledgehammer, sending him collapsed on the ground, shaking. It’s a blurry image that flashes through the back of mind, but what it reveals is almost enough to make him lose it. His eyes flash red again, dangerous and depraved.

A small figure, a young child, a little boy. They are crying, unable to stop the tears from pouring out of his soft brown eyes. He tries to calm them, to stop their embarrassing tears before Thomas gets bullied again for being a crybaby, but it’s no use. They can’t stop crying. He touches their shoulder only to yank it back sharply. Touching them, he feels the emptiness within them. He can’t stand the feeling. That feeling that he’s useless, unappreciated, unwanted. That feeling he has yet to shake off.

Roman’s head snaps towards Patton, recognizing the dad for his true form. “…Depression…” he whispers. As if waiting for the truth to be spoken, Patton’s façade falls away. Now, in this form, his skin is gray as the dead, eyes glossy and full of ever-present tears. Patton wraps his arms around himself, protecting from the onslaught Virgil might send him.

“I’m so sorry,” Patton cries, unable to meet Virgil’s gaze. “I should’ve told you all, I should’ve said something but I _didn’t_!” Patton’s grey eyes flash brightly in sudden anger before losing the light once more, startling the emo in front of him who looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “I didn’t say anything… Does that mean I’m not family anymore?”

Roman reaches out a single hand toward the moral side before it falls weakly by his side. His mind is a torrent of wild, racing thoughts and a heartbeat like dubstep double the speed. Fragments of forgotten memories spill through him. How had he forgotten Depression?

The heavy tread of footsteps catches his attention as he swivels his head to be met with Logan heading into the Commons from the kitchen. “Virgil, you must know we didn’t mean to hurt you when we didn’t tell you. It’s logical to do so, taking into account what you experienced with the others. I assure you none of us meant to cause you any alarm or panic,” Logan says smoothly, adjusting his thick glasses. Virgil is just whipping his head back and forth between Patton, Roman, and Logan, his brain malfunctioning as he tries to process what has just gone done.

“Oh, don’t tell me you-” Before Virgil can finish his sentence, Logan is morphing to his other form, one taller and decked with tan and grey horns curling above his perfectly combed hair, not a strand out of place. His eyes go pitch black like a demon’s. On any other occasion, Virgil’s stunned face would be priceless, with the way his jaw dropped like a cartoon character’s, and how he made some sort of animalistic whine.

“You may call me ‘Obsession’ in this form.” Even Logan’s voice has changed, infused with the slightest bit of desire and lust- though Roman knew the feelings were anything but sexual, memories of Obsession, too, flooding back.

Virgil still can’t speak, too overwhelmed. He sinks to the floor, a blank expression overtaking his face. “Were you all ever going to tell me?” he asks, his voice so soft Roman can barely hear the masked betrayal.

Somehow, he finds his voice. “To be completely honest right now, I didn’t even remember Patton and Logan as Depression and Obsession. I should’ve remembered, but I… I forgot them.” As much as it pains him to say he forgot his own comrades, Roman needs Virgil to believe him, to know he’s not alone in the rush of emotions that’s making him feel sick right now. “I should’ve told you, and I didn’t, and… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Virgil,” he pleads, begging Virgil to at least look at him and not the little tangles of fabric in the carpet.

“I should mention, I have no recollection of Depression or Pride, either,” Logan adds, morphing back into his logical form, noting how it scares Virgil. “It seems our memories have all been repressed.” And Roman is nearly choking on rage, everything clicking in place.

“ _Where’s that little snake bastard?_ ” he nearly screams, the adrenaline already coursing through him, ready to rip every limb off of that little lying, twisting, cheating _fucker_. He gets off the ground, his eyes flashing wildly. Virgil has registered Roman’s words and has curled in on himself, trying to figure out what it means.

He hears a low chuckle, so characteristic of him, and whirls around to see the little bitch in all his glory, lounging on the stairs as if he owned the goddamn place. Roman can hardly hear Patton telling him not to do anything rash before he yanks Deceit up by his collar, his nails digging into his skin.

“You’re the one who hid us from each other, aren’t you?” He doesn’t even have to see Deceit’s lip curl into a leer to know it’s true. He took a deep breath, trying his best not to beat the absolute shit out of Deceit. The snake bats his eyelashes, feigning ignorance.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, _Pride_ ,” he lies, unable to help his low cackle as Roman grunts in pain, one hand clutching his pounding head. “You thought you worked so hard to change, but looks like you’re just _aching_ to come back home,” Deceit laughs, his eyes flickering to the forgotten crown where Roman was, its spikes as alluring as always. “You used to be king,” he says, jerking his head towards the crown. “Why would you demote yourself to being just a prince? _Nobody_ loves princes anymore.” Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, _shutupshutupshutup_ -

He hardly has time to register the foot before Deceit’s head snaps back with a sickening crack. Virgil brings his leg down in a spin only performed by movie characters. “Shut up, you fucking dirtbag. You manipulated me and you manipulated Thomas, are you’re still not content with the destruction you’ve caused?!” Virgil shouts angrily.

Roman swears he sees Deceit pale just the tiniest bit. “Virgil-” Roman grabs Virgil’s hand before he strikes Deceit. He’s still a part of Thomas, no matter how much they all hate him. Hurting him too badly would have awful consequences on Thomas. Instead, he hoists Deceit up with his free hand, not even breaking a sweat.

“You will regret this, mark my words,” he threatens. Deceit visibly shudders. Though the words themselves are not very threatening, Deceit knows full well what Roman is capable of, what Roman did to the others after he told them this exact phrase after some long-forgotten skirmish. He knows that whatever Roman has planned for him will be brutal and shameless. He wasn’t known as Pride for not relishing the work he did, making every detail perfect so he could properly vaunt about it.

He lets go of Deceit’s collar with a flourish, and the snake sinks out almost immediately. He turns to Virgil, who’s staring at the spot where Deceit was sitting, watching the drama unfold before him like it was some sort of soap opera. Virgil’s hands are closing into fists, releasing the tension, and repeating the cycle.

“Virgil-” The silence is broken and everyone’s gazes land on him. “I truly did not mean any harm to you when I did not reveal my origins. Please believe me.” He can hear the pleading whine in his voice and resists the urge to cringe. Perhaps it’s because of the events that just went down, but he can feel the insecurity clutching him even tighter than normal, breathing hotly down his neck like some sort of omniscient beast.

Virgil isn’t answering. For half a second, Roman is convinced he’s crossed the Rubicon and Virgil will never be his friend again, until the emo opens his mouth and all thoughts stop in their tracks so he can hear whatever he has to say. “I’m sorry. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and… I’m sorry, I was such an idiot-” Virgil begins to sink out before Roman grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Virgil, I don’t think realize we’re all idiots here. Yes, Deceit did hide our memories because we didn’t want to believe, but we chose to stay hidden of our own volition.” Virgil’s shimmering eyes flash across the room, glancing at Patton, who has stood up and wiped away his tears, at Logan, who is watching the scene as though nothing has happened (typical), and at Roman, who’s letting him see the most vulnerable parts of himself yet.

“We have to have a long talk, don’t we?” Virgil muses halfheartedly. “I’m getting the ice cream.” He conjures four (extra-large) servings of rocky road, their favorite, handing a pint to each present side. “Let’s just not make this as sappy as I’m scared it’s going to be,” Virgil requests. Roman nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

His eyes glance towards the crown still left on the floor. He reaches for it, grabbing it and observing it for a long moment. With a flick of his wrist, the crown disappears. Not gone, though. Simply back in his closet, stuffed behind other old props he just couldn’t let go of. He knew it was only inviting future dilemmas, but he couldn’t get rid of it.

Sometimes he liked pretending he was king.

He settled down on the couch, ready to start a long breakdown-session. He takes a deep breath, knowing what he’s going to say. “So I guess I’ll start.”

“You can call me Pride.”


	2. When I Was Greatest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT B*TCHES THIS JUST GOT A GODDAMN SEQUEL
> 
> THANKS FOR READING "SANDERS' SINS" Y'ALL ARE AWESOME <3
> 
> TW: suggestive themes, Deceit

He gazed upon the lowly peasant bowing before him, his red eyes narrowed with disdain as he yawned, leaning on an armrest of his golden throne. “What brings you here, _commoner_?” he asked, distracted by the setting sun. Only a few more minutes of this absolute boredom, and then he could frolic about with the nobles, getting drunk on fizzy pink drinks that sparkled in the moonlight of the witching hour.

The farmer tripped over his feet as he tried to rise from his bow, his straw hat falling onto the floor. The plebian paled as he rushed to pick it up, offering garbled apologies for staining the throne room with his filth. “M-m-my lord,” the commoner began. “I have c-c-c-come to m-m-make an- an appeal. Last month, m-m-my farm was t-t-taken from me, you- you see,” he stuttered. He sighed, rolling his eyes as he motioned for the farmer to hurry up. “W-well I was wondering if y-y-you could perhaps h-help deliver it back to me. My f-f-farm is the only source of income for our v-v-village-”

“ _Why_ was the property in question removed from your care?” he asked, his eyes trained on a particularly dashing knight whose lips would surely look beautiful on his- his focus snapped back towards the commoner.

“Y-y-you see, the g-g-guards told us it w-w-was because we had f-f-failed to p-p-pay our taxes-”

“Well, that settles it then, doesn’t it?” he cried, crossing his legs as he slouched in his gilded throne. “I can’t help you if you can’t manage to support the kingdom! We have roads to maintain, knights to train, expenses to pay- oh, that’s a lovely rhyme! Mark that down, will you?” he ordered to a nearby guard, who quickly scrambled to find a quill and sheet of paper. “Believe me, I wish I could help, but obviously you need to sort of your priorities. The kingdom comes first. You are dismissed,” he said, leaning back with a sigh.

The farmer began to splutter some form of debate before two guards moved in perfect unison to escort the peasant out of the palace. He finally felt the tension in his shoulder melt away as he glanced at the sun gracefully dipping below the horizon as the sky burned tangerine and lavender, twinkling stars dancing across the heavens. No longer would he have to wait about, solving problems for incompetent peasants who couldn’t tell money from corruption or capitalism if it struck them on the rear. Instead, he could have some fun.

Without another moment to spare, he hopped off the throne, adjusting the black spire crown perched atop his head as he hurried down several hallways to his room. He could already see his outfit for tonight, just a tad bit dramatic with a sash the color of apples and a dash of wine-red lipstick to attract the wandering gazes of stultified noble boys aching to get out of the clutches of uptight parents.

He chuckled to himself as he kicked open the door to his room. He was met with the familiar sight of theatrical taste. Pillows of crimson and silver were strewn about his massive bed set in a mahogany frame, silk sheets spilling over onto the cream-colored floor. A chandelier made of a thousand live butterflies hung above, the little transparent insects fluttering their crystal wings in time with his heart. Opening the doors to his walk-in closet, he strode in with determination, knowing exactly what look he was going for.

“Ugh, where is it?” he mumbled under his breath as he searched for his favorite tunic. With a cry of triumph, he yanked the charcoal clothing piece from a pile of shirts. He changed out of his current attire, throwing on the jet black tunic with a flourish. He studied himself in the tall mirror, unsure what pants would complete his ensemble. He hummed discontentedly. His head was beginning to hurt from an entire afternoon spent listening to peasants complaining, and now he couldn’t decide whether he should wear the off-white or heather grey breeches. He huffed, deciding on the grey pants, and grabbed a pair of black riding boots. The only thing he’d be riding, though, would be-

“M’lord?” a meek servant interrupted. The king growled lowly, whipping towards the trembling man.

“ _What?_ ” he snapped, yanking a sash the color of cherries out from a drawer, throwing it over his shoulder. The servant paled.

“The gala begins soon, Your Majesty, and the nobles are requesting your presence,” they told him, their voice high and squeaky. He sighed, feeling his lips curl. “I shall leave you posthaste, m’lord,” they said before scurrying out of the closest as fast as their feet would carry them.

“As if my unspoken presence wasn’t already hanging over the floor, watching their every move,” he laughed bitterly to himself. He focused on his make-up, fighting the bothersome feeling of ennui that clutched at him like wisps of smoke in the midmorning. Humming softly to himself, he chose a lipstick the color of plum berries and wine, already imagining it stained on pale skin, so while the imprinted kiss would surely fade, the memory of the king never would. He would make sure each and every person in his expansive lands would remember his name for centuries to come.

With a huff of resignation, he set off for tonight’s gala, chuckling darkly to himself. He came upon the massive doors of dark oak far too soon. A guard noticed huis king and bowed deeply, alerting someone inside that His Majesty had arrived. The chatter inside fell to a hush as the king strode in, his gleaming red eyes sweeping the crowd with mirth. He smirked as the nobles competed to see which one of their sons would catch the prince’s eyes that night.

“Well, don’t let me keep you from having a good time,” he said. The band started up again as the nobles began dancing once more, the dresses and capes all twirling around like small whirlwinds of color, the lights above shining down on the sparkling jewelry placed delicately on ladies’ bare collarbones. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the table of refreshments and turned his feet towards the sustenance.

He picked a few strawberries drizzled in dark chocolate, biting into one that sent sweet juices dribbling from his lips. “Send my compliments to the cook, if you will,” he told the servant tending to the table, who nodded quickly and hurried off to the kitchen.

From the shadows nearby stepped forward a handsome rogue, his black cape tenderly brushing the marble floor. The man’s yellow eyes drew him in at once. They were familiar, like a distant dream he had forgotten but could still see fragments of, yet still entirely foreign to him, like an exotic creature he had only heard about in storybooks. “I must say, I wouldn’t have been one to guess His Majesty enjoys strawberries as though they were his guilty pleasure,” the man says smooth as a snake as he approaches the entranced royal.

The mystery stopped as the light lit up his high cheekbones and eccentric attire. Though most of the king’s court of buffoons liked wearing spinning clothes of every color of the rainbow, this man had opted for an outfit of varying shades of black and grey. His pure white charvet shirt fit his impressive physique perfectly, showing off all the right muscles, accented by tight breeches the color of the sky before a storm. His black boots hugged his calves as the yellow buckles flapped about, either unnoticed or uncared for. Bringing the attention of onlookers towards his captivating eyes was eye shadow the color of lime, darker dashes streaking across in crescent moons like scales.

“Who might you be? Forgive me, I’m not one for learning the names of faceless nobles who pass through my court like the seasons.” The enigmatic man smiled, sharp canines peeking out from under his upper lip smeared with something that had to be whipped cream from another dessert further down the table.

“My family passed down the designation of my grandfather, one Draven Dolos of Fallacia. My pleasure to make your acquaintance, young king,” the man called Draven said as he bowed, taking his hand and pressing a cold kiss to his knuckles. The king felt his smirk widen.

“Can it be possible that such a charming young man is left alone by others, made to watch as they frolic about?” he teased as he outstretched a hand. Draven chuckled, his eyes narrowing like a predator closing on its prey as he took the king’s hand. “May I have the honor of dancing with ‘one Draven Dolos of Fallacia’?” he asked as he escorted the mysterious noble onto the floor, the band striking up a waltz.

“I don’t think I have a choice, actually,” Draven replied snarkily as the king laughed, bringing the man in black closer as the dance began. Both knew the steps to it by heart, taking turns poking fun at each other as they made across the floor, back towards the door. “Am I tonight’s ‘Chosen One’, then?” he flirted as they slipped through the doors unnoticed.

“Oh, hush,” he ordered as he ushered Draven down a labyrinth of corridors. They reached his room and the king threw open the doors with a theatrical shove. “Come here, Draven.” The man followed the order immediately, walking into the room without hesitation, unable to hide his awe as he marveled as the king’s bedroom.

He trained his yellow eyes on the king, studying the royal. “Do you have a question, young Draven?” he asked. The man in the black cape grinned.

“Just one, Your Majesty,” Draven replied as fire danced in his eyes. The king gestured for him to continue with his inquiry. Draven meandered forward until he was face to face with the royal, tilting his head. He bent towards him, almost as if to kiss his neck, and whispered in his ear. “ _How long do you plan to play pretend, Pride?_ ”

The king stumbled back as the illusion fell with lackluster drama. He was back in his insipid room, movie posters covering the bare walls and the sheets of his small cot of a bed wrinkled as if days had gone by without changing them. Certainly not the bedroom of a king, but of an average, forgettable person you could recall the face of, but never the name.

His red eyes threatened depravity as they met with the yellow orbs. “Well, _Your Majesty?_ You’ve haven’t fooled yourself, have you?” He could practically smell the sarcasm dripping from Deceit’s voice.

The eyes flickered around the room that definitely wasn’t a palace, landing on a mirror leaning against a wall. He could see the sparkle of the spires of his crown, the black spires of folly visible in the warped reflection.

Deceit’s dark laughter drew his focus once more as he breathed deep, willing himself to calm down, to act like a king and not murder the snake right then and there. “You’re _so_ charming, Pride, and _such_ a good king,” he told the haughty side with a boisterous laugh. “You could _certainly_ rule a kingdom and they’d _all_ love you.” He clutched his head, forcing himself not to listen to the side who ruled with lies and deceit. Tiny laughs filled his head, incoherent babbles of depravity.

As the last shreds of his illusion ebbed away to disappointment, he heard the fading sound of duplicity, cruel laughter reminding him of all of his failures. He sank to his knees, the crown falling onto his floor with an unsatisfying thump as anguished tears brimmed behind his crimson eyes.

As he let out a depraved cry of hopelessness, he heard the lying side’s final words.

“ _Stop fooling yourself, Pride. It will only be your downfall._ ”

  
  


when i was greatest

peasants would bow

before a king

and i knew the happiness

of being loved

being wanted

if the memories would only

stop making me lonely

as i recall

when i was greatest

when i was beloved

no deed needed

to sow the seeds

of a legacy

made of midnight red wine

and lace gloves upon a scepter

i am but a specter

you have forgotten

before the grim grip of death

has smiled at me

as i take my last breath

when i was greatest

the fire in my eyes

was the insecurity

and vulnerability

that never looked good on me

that i hid beneath a crown

of black ink spilled

on parchment paper

of black spires of a castle

distant in a dream

i could never grasp

without waking up

gasping for reality

to drown me

before the tears in my eyes did

when i was greatest

my fantasies

were imaginary realities

that never agreed

my mind was trapped

and i had swallowed the key

screaming until my lungs

couldn’t breathe

they all laughed at me

and hot shame became

a idiosyncrasy

the denial

you see

the anger

to be

the façade

that is me

is built

on memories

and breakdowns

and rollercoasters

of emotions

and daydreaming kings

and watching you

be happy

knowing it will

never

satisfy me

so all i do

is smile

while you forget

me

and

when i

was

greatest

**Author's Note:**

> Ending? Who's she? Never heard of her.
> 
> credit to dreamsshadowwashere over on tumblr for the original idea of Pride! Roman!


End file.
